Tattoos
by Freida Right
Summary: An episode in parenting, concerning that delicate phase when small children feel compelled to draw all over themselves for fun. Warning: 4 is a girl here; don't bother flaming, I know how much y'all hate that. :P


This should be quick and painless and a lot of fun. And a decent break from all the other fics I feel like I desperately, urgently need to finish, though I don't know why, because no one in particular is reading my 9 fics anyway. Oh well. :P

Also, let it be known that I have no tattoos of my own yet, though I am saving up for a very special one. I _do_, however, have a five-year-old brother who loves to draw all over himself. For Halloween last year, he colored all over his arms, legs and face to be a zombie. A few weeks ago, he gave himself the chickenpox with a red Crayola marker, just in time to go to church.

Hence, I have taken an hour or two from my life to channel all of this into 7. As if neither of us had enough to do already. She can deal with it. She's a big girl, like me. 8D

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_Tattoos_

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"Um, 7... You should come see this."

"You're not going to like it, though."

7 didn't like it already. 2 tried unsuccessfully to hide his bemused smirk behind his hand, and 5's one eye darted nervously around the room for shelter. Shelter from _what? _Only a few things could still make 2 smile like that—whatever was up, it certainly had something to do with the twins.

She rolled her eyes, set down her spear and her sharpening stone, and stood up, ready to get to the bottom of this.

"What have they done _this _time?" She asked, stalking off to find them. The others followed on either side of her.

"You won't believe it," her brother answered unhelpfully.

"Where exactly are they now?"

"In the sanctuary, right where we left them, if they know what's good for them," 2 answered, slightly more helpful. "They'll be in big enough trouble with you, without us having to hunt them down."

"If they're in so much trouble, why don't you do something about it, instead of dragging me away from what I was doing to deal with it?"

"You're practically their mother," 5 protested.

"_You_ were there first! Both of you!"

"What do you expect me_ to do?"_

"What do you expect _me_ to do?"

"I don't know—something..."

7 hated thinking of her brother as useless; but, by the stars, he was so _useless _sometimes. She turned her attention back on 2, who had fallen unusually and suddenly silent.

"And what about you? What's your excuse?"

"I'm staying out of this."

Instead of lashing out and smacking one or both of them in the face, she reached behind her head and gently rubbed her neck and shoulders. She could feel a bad headache coming on, just from the yelling. She made a firm choice not to yell at the twins, no matter what it was they had done. Anymore yelling, and this headache would surely blossom into something unbearable.

They hadn't walked much farther before they stopped in front of a pile of pew Bibles, precariously stacked five tomes high. That was just high enough to hide the twins, if they sat still and didn't make any noise. Not making noise wasn't one of their strong suits, but they were doing quite well at it now. 7 stepped forward, arms crossed and a stern, annoyed look on her face.

"Okay, what did you do?" She demanded. But she got no answer.

"Look, I know you're both back there. Now get out here and tell me what's going on," she commanded as evenly as she could.

_Do not yell at them. Do not yell at them. Do. Not. Yell. At them._

Two tiny sets of fingers appeared over the top of the stack, and slowly, cautiously, the tops of their heads followed, just so she could see their big, nervous eyes. But their faces each had a new feature: their number-names, in small but legible script, in black ink, smack-dab in the middle of their foreheads. Impossible to miss, and, as they all knew, just as impossible to remove from their cloth skin.

7 had sworn not to yell. But she felt that part of her brain completely shut down, and the part that governed her emotions roared to life.

"What have you done! What is wrong with you?" She thundered, furious. The twins both shrunk back behind the stacked books with a flickered yelp of alarm. Behind her, she could hear 2 trying his best not to burst into laughter.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

"I'm sorry," he chuckled.

"Stop encouraging them! You're not helping!"

Just as alarmed as the children, 5 backed away from her.

"We said you wouldn't like it..."

7 backed off a little and sighed heavily. "Dammit, 5..." she muttered pressing the corner of her wooden palm as deep into her temple as she could. She had lost control yet again, and now she was paying for it. Would she ever learn?

"I need you both to leave. Now."

"You're sure?"

"Neither of you are helping; you're only making this worse. And, besides, _I'm practically their mother_," she mimicked, trying not to let her voice rise again.

"Is there anything we _can _do?" 2 asked, actually sounding apologetic this time.

"Does 1 know about this?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Good. Keep it that way."

With the obvious dismissal, they walked away and left her alone, at last. Now she could discipline the twins in relative peace. Still, her headache pulsated relentlessly through her skull. She brought her other hand to her other temple, applying as much pressure as she could; despite her efforts, a particularly painful throb shot straight through her head, making her shudder and wince.

"Dammit..." she muttered again, unable to process any other wordage. With an aggravated sigh, she turned back to the stack of books. The twins were peering cautiously over the top at her, only their fingers and their eyes visible. And their names tattooed forever on their faces. From a mix of frustration and headache, she felt her eye twitch a little.

"...May I ask what the two of you were thinking when you decided to do this to your faces?" She asked slowly.

_"...I don't think we were thinking at all," _4 answered honestly.

_"It seemed like fun, I guess," _3 added, sounding less sorry than his sister.

Partially to make an impression, and partially because her headache was starting to make her dizzy, 7 rested her elbows on top of the books and stared at her children hard.

"Don't lie to me, now: who helped you do this?"

For a long moment, they stood still and just stared back, not answering.

"That handwriting doesn't belong to either of you; did you think I couldn't tell? Now answer me. Who did you get to help you?"

Finally,a little action. 4 looked over at her brother and glared at him hard. _"It was all __his__ idea!" _she flickered defensively. _"I heard him talking to 6 about tattoos or something, and the next thing I knew they were drawing all over themselves! I told them to stop, and they didn't listen to me! I told you we'd get in trouble for this, dumb!"_

_"I didn't see __you__ complaining, sis. You said it tickled. If you thought it was such a bad idea, why'd you sit down with us instead crying to everyone about it?"_

_"I don't know... I just wanted to belong, I guess..."_

Her fears confirmed, 7 sighed and let her head sink into her hands. Was she the only one in this Godforsaken church with any sense left? ...She didn't bother pondering that stupid question. She already knew the answer.

"Great," she grumbled. "Now they'll be expecting me to deal with 6, as well. Just another thing I don't need... Ug, my head hurts... I am _so_ tired of having to do all these things on my own..."

_"We're really sorry."_

Without voices to identify the words that registered so clearly in her aching mind, she had no idea which twin had spoken. She looked back up at them, unimpressed. This time, they really did look sorry for causing so much trouble.

"You know what we've told you about ink," she scolded. "It doesn't matter how irresponsibly 6 uses it, it's _not _a toy to be thrown around. Just look at your faces! That's never going to come off, you know that, right? You can't cover that, you can't wash it off, there is simply no way to hide that."

They didn't answer. In fact, they looked so ashamed and ridiculous that they couldn't face her anymore. If nothing else would be accomplished today, she was glad that they understood how foolish they had been.

"You guys aren't stupid," she concluded. "Children as bright as you shouldn't be doing stupid things like giving themselves tattoos."

_"Well, technically, 6 did it," _3 pointed out.

"And, to his credit, he did first rate work. But you shouldn't let him draw on your faces; you know he doesn't know any better. We have better things to do than hoover over you to make sure you're behaving; we should be able to trust you on your own. How can we trust you now?"

_"...You can't," _4 answered dismally.

"No, we can't. And I feel like I should ground you... But, at the same time, I feel like having to live with your names painted on your faces forever is punishment enough."

That verdict clearly offered little or no real comfort. They looked so humiliated. She suddenly couldn't frown at them anymore.

"Is the ink dry yet?"

_"Yeah; It's been here an hour or two."_

With a benevolent smile, she rounded the stack and held her arms out to them.

"Come here, you two."

Relieved that the scary part was over, they skittered out of the shadow and into the shelter of their mother's embrace. Just holding them close, she felt her headache begin to subside.

"You know that I love you both beyond reason, and nothing can ever change that," she commented gently. "I can't be mad at you—just at the dumb things you do."

_"We do some pretty dumb things, sometimes, huh?" _3 agreed sheepishly.

_"We should really try doing fewer dumb things, and more smart things, I guess," _4 concluded.

"If you can."

They both looked up at her and beamed sweetly. It dawned on her that she could tell at once which one was which now, without having to look down at their chests for their names. She pushed their hoods back a little, so she could see better, and gently brushed her fingers over their tattooed foreheads.

"This may actually save me a few headaches in the future," she mused.

_"So you don't think it's __completely__ ridiculous?" _4 asked hopefully.

"Oh, it looks _completely_ ridiculous, and it's fitting that you'll have to own it forever; and 2 will probably ground you both anyway, if he can stop laughing for a minute. He'll be laughing at you until the day he dies. But you know that he loves you very much, as well, right?"

_"We know," _they chorused, nodding vehemently.

7 sighed, satisfied that she was a good mother, after all. She snuggled them closer and let her head rest on top of theirs. "You are such great kids."

_"Yeah, I guess it could have been worse,"_ 3 commented needlessly._ "I was gonna let 6 draw polka-dots all over my arms next."_

Her guard lowered, she allowed the comment to tickle her a little. But, all at once, the implication hit her, and her guard went flying back up, maternal instincts straight as a pin.

"Wait—_what?_"

And, just like that, her headache was back with a vengeance. Would she _ever_ learn?

Probably not...

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A/N...

Isn't it interesting, how "Dammit, 5" is always an appropriate response to a problem? :P


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